The Office Tranny Who Had Them on Their Knees

It was past a quarter past ten at night when Camila closed the reception drawer and switched off the last screen. The building had been almost empty for an hour: only the dull hum of the fluorescent lights above the deserted desks and the distant beep of the elevator answering some floor that no one should have been occupying at that hour remained. Her heels —fifteen hours in them, black, stiletto, with the heel strap threatening to leave a raw rub for the next day— had turned her feet into two live coals. Every step from the counter to the staff room was an upward torture that climbed her calves and ended up sinking into her hips like a thin nail.

But it was the other discomfort, the one she had carried sewn to her body since morning, that kept her stomach tight.

Under the graphite pencil skirt, fitted and professional, the thong fabric pressed against the half-hard cock her body produced without asking her permission. The glans tacky with the fluid that had leaked out over the course of the day, rubbing against the damp cotton every time she took a step. Her balls sweaty, squeezed between her thighs by the pressure of the tight lingerie. The physical, constant reminder of the distance between what she projected to the world and what she hid underneath. Camila knew that feeling so well she had learned to ignore it during the day, to turn it into a kind of low-intensity fuel that burned slowly and without visible flame. She had perfected it in seven years of face-to-face work.

What she had never been able to ignore was the way some men looked at her.

Not all of them. Just some. And always in the same way: they started at her face, dropped to her chest, kept going lower, and ended by lifting their gaze again with something different in their eyes. An unspoken question. A half-certainty they didn’t know whether to confirm or leave alone. The question of whether, beneath the pencil skirt, what they could make out was what they suspected.

Marcelo was the first to appear in the hallway. In his forties, pinstriped suit with the jacket unbuttoned and the tie loosened halfway down his chest, several days’ beard giving him that air of a man who no longer needs to make an effort in front of anyone. She had seen him preside over meetings with that deep voice that asked for no validation and expected none. That night he wasn’t going to preside over anything.

—You heading out already, Camila? —he asked, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. His gaze dropped for a second, calculated and not even pretending to hide it, stopping right where the skirt strained over the bulge—. I was going to stay a while with the guys. A few beers, some music. No agenda, you know. After hours.

Two more appeared behind him.

Sebastián, from marketing, with that sideways smile of someone who knows he’s liked and manages it without any apparent effort. Julián, from the technical department, quieter, with dark eyes fixed on her with a kind of attention that had nothing innocent about it. The three of them had been looking at her that same way for weeks, and Camila knew it because she paid attention to that sort of thing. She had caught fragments of cut-off conversations when she walked into a room. She had seen messages on screens that had been turned the wrong way. They knew enough for their curiosity to have turned into something more concrete. They knew she had a cock and they wanted to check it out.

Camila felt the heat rise from her sternum to the base of her neck. And a little lower, a jolt that tightened the thong fabric.

—My feet are killing me —she said, and her voice came out rougher than she intended, exhaustion mixed with something she preferred not to name out loud—. It’s been a very long day.

Marcelo gave a slow smile, the kind that never quite becomes a smile.

—Then take them off. There’s no one here to judge anything.

Sebastián crossed his arms. Camila could clearly see the bulge in his dress pants already starting to press against the fabric.

—We know you’re different, Camila. We’re fine with that. More than fine, actually.

She looked at them in silence, one by one. Marcelo with his executive arrogance worn down by the day. Sebastián with that calculated confidence that never quite switched off. Julián, who still hadn’t said anything, with his eyes fixed on her as if he were already counting how much longer until she made a decision.

Her heart was pounding, but the inner voice that sometimes warned her to leave, that this wasn’t a good idea, that her body wasn’t really on board, was strikingly quiet that night.

In its place was something else. Colder. Cleaner. Hotter between the legs.

—All right —she said at last—. But I make the rules. And if any of you goes too far, you’re out. Understood?

The three of them nodded almost at once.

***

The meeting room smelled of morning coffee and printed paper. They had lowered the blinds before coming in. The only light came from the emergency strips at floor level and the bluish glow of a laptop forgotten in the corner of the long table. On the back whiteboard, the residue of a Wednesday presentation was still there, half-erased, with a bar graph that no longer had any context or any meaning.

Camila entered last. She closed the door carefully. Locked it. Took off one heel calmly and let it drop onto the carpet. The sound was dry, final. The other followed. Then she sat on the edge of the glass table, crossed her legs, and looked at them.

—First I want to see you. Naked. All of you. I want to see what you brought.

The three men looked at each other for a second, that moment of male calibration that she always found curious, as if they needed to confirm among themselves that the situation was real. Then they began.

Marcelo was the first to loosen his tie and shrug off his jacket. His shirt fell to the floor without being folded. He pulled down his trousers and underwear at the same time, with the rushed clumsiness of someone who had been thinking about this moment longer than he was willing to admit. His cock sprang forward already fully hard, thick, the dark glans peeking out from the pulled-back foreskin and a thick vein running under it. Sebastián unbuttoned his shirt from the top, button by button, with the efficiency of someone who had done it many times without thinking; underneath, he had a smooth chest and a tattoo on his forearm that had never been visible under the long sleeves of formal meetings. When he pulled his trousers down, his was longer than Marcelo’s, a little thinner, with a pink, wet glans at the tip. Julián was clumsier, or maybe more nervous; he unbuckled his belt outright and let his trousers fall with no solemnity at all. The one between his legs was the darkest of the three, shorter but notably thick, with heavy, low balls.

Three men standing in front of her. Three hard cocks pointing at her. And none of them pretending it was anything else.

Camila studied them without hurry. Marcelo’s chest, with that dark hair going down to his navel and continuing on to the thick patch of his pubes. Sebastián’s leaner body, the defined abs, his cock bouncing slightly against his belly every time he breathed. Julián, shorter and broad-shouldered, with brown skin and big hands hanging still at his sides, holding himself back from touching.

She bit her lower lip for a moment.

Then she stood, hooked her thumbs into the thong’s elastic, and lowered it slowly, never taking her eyes off the three of them. The fabric caught on her thigh for an instant. She lifted the skirt with a slow gesture, bunching it up to her waist, and held it tight against her stomach.

Her cock came into view. Hard, medium-sized, with taut skin and a wet glans, a drop of precum hanging from the tip and sliding slowly down. Below, the balls tucked up against the body. Long, shaved legs, the firm thighs earned in heels.

The silence that followed lasted maybe four seconds.

—Jesus Christ —Sebastián murmured, and he brought his hand to his own cock without thinking, squeezing it at the base.

Julián said nothing. He swallowed. Camila saw his Adam’s apple move in his throat.

Marcelo took a step forward.

—Stop —Camila said.

He froze.

—Kneel down.

And he did. The executive who had presided over an annual results meeting the week before let himself drop to his knees on the carpet with the same ease with which he signed documents. Now he looked up and she looked down, and neither of them pretended that it was anything other than what it was.

—Suck me —she said, and the word came out clean, without hesitation—. Slowly. I want to feel the tongue, not the teeth. If you speed up without me telling you to, I stop and give it to someone else. Is that clear?

—Yes —Marcelo said, his voice changed.

—Open your mouth.

He opened it. Camila grabbed his cock with one hand and laid it on his tongue, not pushing it all the way in yet. The wet glans left a shiny trail on his lower lip. Marcelo closed his eyes for a moment.

—Look at me —she ordered.

He opened them.

—Now.

The heat of the mouth was immediate and complete. Camila gripped the edge of the table with her other hand and tipped her head back for a second, her loose hair brushing her shoulder blades, before lowering it again so she wouldn’t miss the show. Marcelo had started at the tip, licking the glans carefully, collecting the precum with his flat tongue before taking the cock into his mouth halfway. His tongue worked with honest clumsiness —too much pressure at times, too much rhythm at others— but with an obvious willingness that made up for the rest.

—Slower —Camila repeated, and she grabbed his hair with her free hand—. Hollow it out. Make room for me with your tongue. Like this.

He corrected. Saliva started dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin onto his bare chest. Camila pushed her hips forward, giving him control over how much went in, and his cock went all the way to the back of her throat. Marcelo swallowed. Coughed for a second. Opened wider again.

—That’s it. Good boy. All the way down.

Sebastián came up behind her without being asked. He pushed her hair away from her neck with two fingers and bit the skin between shoulder and ear, his teeth leaving a pressure that didn’t quite hurt but didn’t disappear either. Camila felt Sebastián’s rock-hard cock pressing into the small of her back through the lifted skirt, leaving a hot trail of fluid on the bare skin of her hip. He started unbuttoning her blouse from the top, button by button, without rushing. When he opened the fabric, he took her tits in both hands and pinched the nipples at the same time, tugging just hard enough to make Camila moan over the cock Marcelo had in her mouth.

—Fuck, they’re so hard —Sebastián murmured against her ear, rubbing his cock against her ass over the skirt—. I’ve been imagining them for months.

—Then look at me now —she said, turning her head to look at him—. And learn.

Julián stayed where he was, watching, his hand on his cock, slowly squeezing. Waiting for instructions.

—Come here —Camila said, pointing two fingers at a spot right in front of his face—. I want yours in my mouth while this one sucks mine.

Julián obeyed without speaking. He came close enough to leave the thick glans a handspan from her lips. Camila stuck out her tongue and licked the tip, collecting the drop of precum hanging there, and then she took it all into her mouth in one movement that made Julián shut his eyes and let out the first moan of the night.

—That’s it, like that —Camila murmured as she pulled it out for a second—. You’ve got a beautiful cock. Nice and thick. Put it all the way in.

And she took it back in on her own.

***

What followed was an improvised choreography. Camila directed it with short, precise instructions, and all three listened with a kind of attention that had nothing servile about it: something closer to recognition, the kind that happens when someone knows exactly what they want and has no doubt when asking for it.

—Sit there —she told Marcelo, pulling his cock out of her mouth with a thread of saliva hanging between them. She pointed to the straight-backed chair at the back—. That one.

He obeyed. Sat with his legs open and his cock pointing at the ceiling, shining with her saliva, swollen and throbbing with his pulse.

—Wet it well —Camila said, spitting into her palm and going down for it. She took his cock in her saliva-slick hand and stroked it slowly, from the base to the glans, spreading the natural lubricant over the whole length—. I don’t want to go in dry.

She pulled her skirt up to her waist. Gave Marcelo her back and sat on top of him from behind, one hand on the chair arm to steady herself, the other guiding his cock to her asshole. She pressed the glans against the hole and stayed there for a second, breathing, letting the heat of the foreskin open her entrance a little before pushing.

—Don’t move —she murmured—. I set the pace. If you cum before I tell you to, you’ll never fuck me again. Understood?

—Understood —Marcelo said, his voice rough.

She started to lower herself. Centimeter by centimeter. The glans pressed, the first ring of muscle gave way, and it began to enter. The heat was intense, the friction even more so, the sting right at the boundary between pain and pleasure. She clenched her teeth and let the air out through her nose very slowly, measuring each second, letting her body adjust to having him inside. When she reached the end and felt Marcelo’s balls against her ass, she let out a long moan, eyes half-closed.

—Fuck —she murmured—. What a thick one you’ve got.

Her own cock had gone rock-hard again in front of her, peeking between the lifted skirt and her belly, dripping.

Sebastián knelt behind her without being asked, intuiting it. The tongue she felt between her hips was cold at first, exploring cautiously, licking her balls from underneath while Marcelo’s cock stayed buried in her ass. Camila’s muscles clenched in response without meaning to, and Marcelo let out a groan beneath her. Then Sebastián’s tongue moved up the perineum, tracing the space between the balls and the hole, licking in circles around the point where Marcelo’s cock opened her asshole.

—Oh, fuck, keep going right there —Camila moaned—. Right there.

Sebastián kept going. He slipped his tongue between her ass and Marcelo’s cock, licked Marcelo’s balls along the way, then went back up to the stretched hole, licking the edges where the skin tightened with the penetration. Every pass of the tongue sent a lash up her spine.

Julián stood in front of her. He had his cock at just the right height for Camila to lick without bending too much. She took it in her hand and started sucking it, setting the rhythm herself, taking the head slowly down to the back of her throat and then coming back up. Julián put a hand on the back of her neck, not pushing, just letting her work.

They started moving.

Slowly at first. She set the pace: when to lift her hips, letting Marcelo’s cock slide out to the glans, when to drop suddenly and impale herself all the way down, how to tilt her pelvis to feel him deeper, what was allowed and what wasn’t. The three of them responded to her body with that concentration she had only found in men who knew that pleasure was not a right but a consequence of paying attention.

—Like that —she said when something worked.

—Stop —she said when it didn’t.

And they stopped.

—Harder —she ordered Marcelo at one point, gripping the armrests with both hands to get leverage—. Push from below. Fuck me for real.

Marcelo dug his fingers into her hips and started thrusting from below, lifting her ass off the seat with every drive. The wet slap of his balls against her, the slick sound of penetration, the four of them moaning together. Sebastián had to pull back for a second, but came right back, now licking her nipples from behind, one hand in front squeezing Camila’s cock and stroking it slowly in time with Marcelo’s thrusts.

—Fuck, you leak as much as if you were about to cum already —Sebastián murmured against her neck, showing her the shiny fingers he had just pulled away from Camila’s glans.

—Suck your fingers —she said without stopping sucking Julián.

Sebastián put the two fingers in his mouth and licked them.

—Good taste.

—Next time I’ll swallow yours whole.

Camila turned her attention back to Julián. She had him right on the edge. She could feel it in the tension in his balls every time she squeezed them with her free hand, in the way his hips jerked involuntarily.

—You’re not cumming yet —she warned him, pulling it out for a second, looking him in the eyes—. I want the load on your face, not in your mouth. And I want it at the end, not now.

—Fuck —he murmured—. All right.

She moved him away for a moment. She motioned to Sebastián.

—You, come here. Get out from behind me. Stand in front.

Sebastián stood up from the floor, his cock hanging heavy and dripping, bright with his own saliva. He took his place in front of her, in the same spot Julián had occupied a second earlier.

—Yours too —Camila said, grabbing both cocks at once with one hand and the other. She pressed them against each other and started sucking Sebastián’s glans first, then Julián’s, alternating, licking the seam, taking both tips into her mouth at the same time when she could—. I want the two together.

Meanwhile, Marcelo kept fucking her from below, now slower because she had ordered him not to finish too soon, but burying his cock to the hilt with every thrust and making her moan over the cocks in her mouth.

She had a line of sweat running down her spine to her tailbone. Her own moans mixed with those of the three men, all different in timbre and urgency. Marcelo growling from the chest with every thrust from below, Sebastián panting with clenched teeth, Julián with a near-continuous deep groan. The meeting room filled that usual space of institutional silence with a density the room had never had in its regular working hours. The sales chart remained on the whiteboard, indifferent to the wet sound of cocks going in and out, to the smell of sex and sweat that was already beginning to soak into the carpet.

Camila felt the orgasm building from below, slow and unhurried, like pressure filling a tank that would take a long time to overflow. It rose from the asshole stretched and throbbing around Marcelo’s cock, ran through her balls, concentrated at the base of her cock. She stayed on the edge longer than she would have thought possible, savoring that tension that was half physical sensation and half something harder to name: the pleasure of having three men used to taking up space, used to the world revolving around their decisions, now waiting for her instructions with genuine attention, with hard cocks in their hands or inside her body, not moving until she decided.

She took both cocks out of her mouth. Braced herself on the armrests. Lifted herself a little to get the angle.

—Now all of you —she ordered—. Marcelo, fuck me hard. Like there’s no tomorrow. You two, on the face, both at once. You’ll cum when I cum.

No more needed to be said. The three of them understood.

Marcelo dug his fingers into her hips and started pounding from below at a pace she no longer controlled, lifting her ass off the seat with each shove, his cock going all the way in, his balls hitting hers with a constant wet sound. Sebastián and Julián stood on either side of her face, jerking off fast, their cocks a few centimeters from her lips and cheeks.

Camila grabbed her own cock with the hand she had free and started stroking it furiously, syncing herself with Marcelo’s thrusts from below. The orgasm came in a long wave, with shudders running up her back from her hips to her shoulders. The first spurt shot over Sebastián’s shoulder and splashed the whiteboard from the presentation, leaving a white blob over the bar graph. The second landed on her own stomach. She kept cumming in spasms, moaning with her mouth open.

She felt Marcelo tense beneath her at the same time, his cock swelling inside her a second before she recognized the internal heat without words: the first jet of semen against the wall of her ass, then the second, then a weaker third, his cock throbbing with each release.

—Fuck, fuck, fuck —Marcelo panted against her neck—. Fuck, what an ass, fuck.

Sebastián was next. She had seen it coming by the way his hand had sped up. The first jet hit her cheek and lip, hot, thick, sliding down her chin. The second marked her neck. Camila stuck out her tongue and licked the last drops from his glans, looking him in the eyes.

—Good boy —she murmured—. Good stamina.

Sebastián laughed, breathless.

Julián was last; Camila looked straight at him when it happened, not taking her eyes off him, mouth open and tongue out. The first jet went straight into her mouth and she swallowed it. The second landed on her other cheek, mixing with Sebastián’s. The third marked her chest. Camila didn’t stop looking at him for a second, and that seemed to be exactly what was missing for Julián to shudder with a deep groan that came from his gut and buckle at the knees until he had to lean on the table.

Camila stayed like that for a moment. Face covered in the semen of two men, her own slicking down her stomach, Marcelo’s cock still buried in her ass, slowly losing hardness, the last remnants of the orgasm pulsing inside her. She closed her eyes. Let out the air very slowly.

Then, unhurried, she lifted her hips and felt the soft cock slide out of her hole, followed by a thread of warm semen running down the inside of her thigh. She caught it with two fingers and brought the fingers to her mouth, watching Marcelo while she licked them clean.

***

When it was all over, the room smelled of human heat, sweat, semen, and effort. Camila took her time. She grabbed a couple of paper tissues from the box on the glass table and wiped her face calmly, collecting the semen from her cheek, her neck, her lip. Another tissue for her stomach. Another for the inside of her thigh. She folded them and threw them in the trash along with the wrapper from a candy she’d had there since Monday. She picked up the thong from the floor, folded it, and put it in her bag —she wasn’t planning to put it back on like that—. She straightened her skirt with both hands. Buttoned her blouse, the two middle buttons that had been left open, another one up top that had popped at some point. She picked up her heels from the carpet and put them on while standing, one first and then the other, with the same calm she had taken them off half an hour earlier.

The three men were still sitting or slumped there, their soft cocks hanging, exhaustion visible in their postures and in the way they avoided looking at one another.

Marcelo was the first to speak.

—That was…

—I know —Camila said, without turning around.

She checked her hair in the dark reflection of the powered-off digital whiteboard screen. It looked acceptable. Then she picked up her bag from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.

—Thursday’s team meeting —she said, looking them straight in the face—. Don’t be late.

Sebastián let out a low laugh, the kind that comes out when something is more true than it should be.

Julián ran a hand over his face —smearing his palm with some of his own semen that had been left on his chin— and smiled slowly.

Marcelo nodded, not taking his eyes off her.

Camila switched off the emergency strip as she left. In the hallway, the fluorescents kept humming with the same indifference as always, oblivious to everything that had happened behind that door. She pressed the elevator button and waited with her bag hooked over her forearm, watching the numbers above the doors. She could still feel Marcelo’s semen inside her, slowly leaking with every step.

When the doors opened and she stepped in, she saw herself reflected in the brushed steel mirror inside: Sebastián’s teeth marks on her neck, her hair loose, the blouse not quite the same as it had been that morning. The heel rub could wait until tomorrow.

She smiled.

The tension from before was gone. There was no pressure, no dull weight of carrying her body like a suit that never quite fit. Only the clean tiredness of someone who knows exactly what they want and has gotten it that night.

The doors closed.

The elevator descended in silence toward the ground floor.